


Rainy nights

by RabidRabbit



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Corvo Bianco, Found Family, Halloween, One Big Happy Family, Samhain, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27487894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidRabbit/pseuds/RabidRabbit
Summary: Geralt returns home one rainy samhain night, only to find that home is far more than the place your house happens to stand.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Rainy nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the prompt challenge on the 'original witcher fan art' facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/groups/1116692382083535/about  
> The prompt itself was "Geralt returns home to Corvo Bianco late one rainy night."  
> I'm not entirely happy with this, so constructive criticism is welcome, but today is the deadline so up it goes.

“Come on Roach.” Geralt muttered quietly as his horse tried yet again to find a way to keep her head out of the wind that sent droplets of icy water right into their faces. Toussaint had seemed like a fairytale land when they’d first arrived there, a place where summer was never-ending and the leaves would always be green. And autumn had been slow in coming, creeping up to them in fading foliage and earlier sunsets without much change in the weather. It was fitting perhaps, that the gentle shift in the seasons seemed to have taken a sharp turn now on the night of samhain.

Geralt had spent hours roaming the catacombs beneath Beauclair, guiding spirits and spectres back to the realms they belonged in with force of will rather than violence. It was something he could do solely on this night of nights, when the veil between worlds was so thin it was nearly non-existent, but it made for tiring work. Exhaustion dragged at his body as he pushed his heels down into Roach’s flanks. “Just a few more miles and we’ll be home.” 

Before Corvo Bianco, before getting the run-down remains of faded glory in reward for a job he hadn’t yet done, he would have found them a sheltered spot somewhere among the vines to rest. Before Corvo Bianco, a wet woolen blanket and sparse grass would have been what they’d be looking forward to. And they still could, they’d survive just fine, but Geralt found himself longing for dry sheets and a meal set near the stove, kept warm and waiting for him to return home.

Roach walked on, her ears tucked so far back that they almost disappeared into the horrid tangle her mane had become, turning her head this way and that to escape the stinging rain. The gritty mud of the road squelched beneath her hooves as they slowly made their way along empty fields and vineyards, the rhythm of her steps the only sound in the night that was not wind or rain. 

Geralt expected his estate to be quiet and dark as it always was during the night, with only the sounds of beasts and sleeping workers disturbing the peace. He was usually welcomed by just the single lamp Barnabas left burning when he left the main house to find his own bed, a single pinprick of light that was utterly unnecessary but appreciated all the same.  
Instead, a sea of little flames welcomed him home, the flickering candles protected from the wind and rain by carved turnips and beets. It wasn’t long before he could hear dozens of voices over the patter of rain, their owners soon visible as they huddled between the workers’ cottages and the forge.

He hadn’t even dismounted yet when Roach’s reins were taken over by one of the workers, who led her into the stable with its inviting manger of hay with kind words and a scratch behind her ears. Barnabas hurried over, his bald head shining with water in the candlelight. “Welcome home sir!” he said, even as Geralt patted an utterly disinterested Roach on her hindquarters. “We’ve been waiting for you. Would you like to accompany me please? I’ve already taken the liberty to send for a change of clothes from your chambers.”

It wasn’t often that Geralt found himself speechless, but Barnabas seemed to have a talent for causing it. Talking to the majordomo was somewhat like talking to the duchess, where even the most polite requests or suggestions felt like orders that ought to be obeyed without question. Geralt fell in step beside him, despite having preferred a quick meal before falling into his massive bed, and was led to the forge he’d recently had repaired. 

Children were giggling and shouting as they roasted chestnuts over a merrily crackling fire. Farmworkers, dressed in their finest, were slightly less loud in their conversations but seemed equally glad to be there despite the weather, chatting and drinking as if it weren’t some ungodly hour of the night. 

Geralt had known samhain was celebrated by most people on the continent. He’d seen the bonfires and the occasional lantern, knew most of the traditions, but work had alway kept him occupied. Well-paid contracts were easy to find around the night of the dead, and it was a festival that belonged to families and communities. He had had neither, safe for the few of his witcher brethren remaining, so he’d never felt the desire to disturb others with his presence. 

“Here you go sir.” Barnabas said as he offered a bundle of dry, neatly pressed clothes with a small bow. His employees discreetly looked the other way as Geralt shucked out of his soaked trousers and tunic and replaced them with the well-worn but mostly whole woollens his majordomo offered like a gentleman’s valet. 

He deposited his weaponry and bags in a corner and found himself a sheltered spot perched on a half-wall, just letting the celebration wash over him for a while.  
There were several games of gwent going, a group was throwing dice, and a spirited game of knucklebones was going on in the mud of the courtyard as if the rain wasn’t falling in bucketloads. Cider and mead were poured aplenty, a chipped mug pressed into the witcher’s hands without his asking. Slightly charred chestnuts were passed along as the children happily burned their way through the basket of fresh nuts at their feet, and Geralt basked in the normalcy of it all. 

The games were quickly cleared away when Marlene led a gaggle of teenagers down from the house, all of them laden down with trays and platters of food. The workbench that normally served to straighten scythes and beat the dents out of armour was swiftly dressed as a dining table, half a dozen places set complete with cutlery and plates even though there were no seats. 

Neither were the places taken, even as people produced plates and bowls seemingly out of nowhere and started heaping them with the pastries and jams and baked apples. Geralt felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he watched the man who so loved talking about the ‘good long nights’ he gave his wife being sent back to the table three times before the plates he’d filled were to his lady love’s liking. No question about who wore the trousers in that relationship.

Marlene herself joined him on his wall, two plates of food clutched in her wrinkled hands.  
“It’s been so long since I had a celebration like this.” she said after she’d offered one of them to him. “I never knew how much I’d missed them.”  
Geralt hummed, his mouth full of cinnamon-powdered apple. It was lukewarm, just like the pastry.  
Just like the meals he found waiting when he came home in the depths of night any other time of the year.  
The realization that the meal had been waiting for hours to be eaten, that everyone had been waiting for him to come home and join them hit him like golem’s fist. 

“Enjoying your return to society?” he asked once he’d managed to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Very much. Though I don’t think I’ll ever desire more than small gatherings like this.” The vague, sad smile that had quickly become familiar tugged at her face as she spoke. “These are good people, welcoming strangers into their fold without question. So different from my life before the curse. I loved parties and feasts when I was young, but now, looking back, I doubt how much my guests and servants did.” 

“I haven’t had much cause for feast or parties.” Geralt replied. “Not for a long time. And I never expected to end up like this.” He used his half-eaten pastry to gesture at the children running about, uncaring about the witcher whose knees they bumped into, his weapons propped up in a corner alongside rakes and brooms, the workers toasting him whenever he looked their way. “This is… good. Strange but good.” 

They sat in companionable silence as conversations flowed around them, getting louder with every pint that was emptied until Barnabas clapped his hands and silence fell.  
The majordomo was the only one still looking pristine, not a crumb or wrinkle to be found, hands clasped behind a ramrod straight back as he started speaking.

“Thank you all for being here. We have a season of growth and hard labour behind us, and now it is time for rest and the decline of winter so the land can return to life with great abundance when spring comes round again. Let us now light the bonfire in preparation of the year to come, full of life and prosperity for all.” 

Drunken cheers followed, cups and pints were drained, and the labourers went out to douse the lanterns and fires that had lit up the grounds and their homes. Darkness soon swallowed the estate, the clouds blocking any light the full moon or the stars could have given.  
Geralt watched them stumble about, his mutated eyes quickly adapting to the loss of light, and hurried over to stop the old potter from tumbling down into the cellar.  
Children suddenly clustered around their parents, their cheerful bravery forgotten with the night suddenly so close, and it wasn’t long before everyone was gathered around the pile of wood stacked at the center of the courtyard. 

“Sir?” came Barnabas’ voice from the darkness. “Would you do the honours?” 

Geralt hesitated for a moment. He didn’t know the rituals, if there were any, nor did he have much faith in his skill with the flint and steel his majordomo held out to him. But this was his home, and the people here had already accepted many oddities and outlandish quirks, they would undoubtedly allow him one more unintentional faux-pass. “Gladly BB.”

He accepted the tools he hadn’t had to use since his Trials and knelt at the base of the bonfire, taking a deep breath before speaking. 

“I’d like to thank you all for being here. Corvo Bianco has become a home I had never expected to find, a safe haven in a turbulent world, and I hope it will continue to be a home and haven for those who require one in times to come.” 

And with those words, he struck the steel to flint, sparks flying to land in the waiting tinder. Smoke started to rise as the charred cloth started to smoulder, and a discreet sign of igni encouraged the vague glow to grow into a tiny flame despite the wind and rain.  
It soon caught, licking up twigs and straw, spreading through branches and logs. 

Geralt got up and stepped back, sore muscles and exhaustion nearly forgotten, and watched as people, people, threw their offerings and sacrifices of food and cloth and crafted goods to the flames.  
He didn’t know how long he stood there. The wind still clawed at his hair, the rain still stung in his eyes, but the discomfort they caused were forgotten. He watched as burning branches were taken from the bonfire to light torches and candles, fresh new flames to warm the homes and hearths of Corvo Bianco for another year.

Tomorrow, when the fire had cooled, its ashes would be spread along the perimeter of the vineyard, bringing luck and protection to all inside. Geralt knew from experience how little truth there was to such folk beliefs, but he’d be there all the same. He’d work alongside the people who’d taken him into their lives, stain his clothes with ash, and hope for a good year to come.


End file.
